Jolly Good Show, Hogan Darling!
by konarciq
Summary: Throughout the show, there are two people who single-handedly can drive Hogan to distraction. So what happens when those two meet on their way to Stalag 13? For the SSSW 2017.


_**Jolly Good Show, Hogan Darling!**_

.

He had done it again: escape. And here he was, on his way back to jolly old England. He whistled about the white cliffs of Dover as he marched along the road out of Hamelburg. After all, if there was one thing he'd learned at boarding school, it was that acting with stealth never paid. You always got caught that way. It was too suspicious. It attracted too much unwanted attention.

No. If you wanted to go unnoticed, you had to act as if this (whatever outrageous you were planning to do) was the most normal thing in the world to do. And nobody would pay any attention to you.

The road had been long. Not particularly long though. He had hitched a ride - completely openly - with a farmer going to a market. The man hadn't said much; maybe he was deaf. And now he was well on his way to his first goal: Stalag 13.

He switched his tune to the washing on the Siegfried Line - but then he suddenly stopped in his tracks. A car was approaching - he could hear the sound of the engine in the distance. Along this road? They probably were heading for Stalag 13, too, for as he recalled, there was nothing but woods around there. Perhaps he could hitch another ride? As it was, despite his daily callisthenics programme he was frightfully out of condition, having been locked up in that dreadful Stalag 18 for months...

The sound of the engine was coming closer. And as a car nosed itself around a curve in the road, he stood to the side and held out his thumb. It worked - the car slowed down and stopped.

A slender hand with a huge ring was stretched out to him from the window. "Look, Bumsti! A real life British officer! What shall we do with him?"

Beside the lady, a bored German general hid a yawn behind his hand. "Capture him."

The lady winked. "Sure. Hop in, darling! What's your name? And where are you going?"

The officer jumped to a vibrating salute. "Group Captain Rodney Harland Merriwether Crittendon, at your service, milady."

The lady's eyes glittered. "How charming! And where are you headed? To Stalag 13, by any chance?"

"Indeed I am, ma'am."

"Well, hop in then. That's our destination, too."

"Marya...!" the car's other occupant warned with a dangerous undertone to his voice.

"Oh, Bumsti, you're jealous! How sweet! But don't worry - he's British. How could I ever fall for anything British, when the crème de la crème of the Third Reich is sitting next to me? Hop in!" she ordered the hitchhiking Brit.

Crittendon did as he was told, and once the car drove off, the lady up front (who apparently was called Marya) turned towards him. "And what brings you to this delightful little camp we're going to?"

For a moment, Crittendon looked uneasily at the German officer at the wheel. But then he proudly lifted his chin and stared off into the middle distance. "I am sorry, ma'am, but I refuse to answer on the grounds that I might tell the truth."

"Ah, playing hard to get, are you?" She tickled him under his chin with her feathery boa, and he struggled visibly not to erupt in a bout of sneezing. Once again, there was mischievous laughter in the lady's eyes. "Are you going there to see that delightful Colonel Hogan by any chance?"

Crittendon kept staring off into the middle distance. "I am not at liberty to discuss that at this moment."

"Really?" Once again, Marya tickled him under his chin. And under his nose. And Crittendon had to keep a very stiff upper lip in order not to collapse in a sneezing attack. "How about discussing it later then?"

"Marya...!" came it again from the sour officer at the wheel.

"Oh, don't be such a spoiled sport, Bumsti." She waved the boa under his nose as well. "I'm just questioning him, that's all. In fact..." With a swift move she pulled in the proud British officer between the seats and kissed him full on the mouth. The French way.

Of course, that was not the kind of action a British gentleman (and despite all his faults, Crittendon was most definitely a gentleman) was used to. Or even prepared for. Some unarticulated noises welled up from his throat, but as always, a kiss held a man far more securely than handcuffs ever would. And Marya certainly had a way of turning men into putty.

"Marya," came the voice of the annoying Bumsti again. "Let go of him. We have arrived at this camp of yours."

"Ah! Finally!" All businesslike, Marya turned back to look around at her favourite prison camp. "Now where is our charming host? And that mischievous Colonel Hogan?" She patted his arm. "You will like him, Bumsti. He's such a fun person!"

She looked back at the British officer in the back. He hadn't moved since she'd removed her lips from his. He just sat there, staring into the distance with a heavenly look in his eyes, whispering under his breath. It sounded like, "By golly, look at those fireworks...!"

.

"Colonel, there's a car driving into camp." Foster stepped aside, to let Hogan have a look at the visitors.

But it was Newkirk who recognized one of the car's inhabitants first. "Cor blimey, it's that White-Russian bird! Quick! Hide LeBeau!"

"What?" LeBeau jostled himself forward till he was at the front. "Marya! She's come back to me!" he exulted, and already grabbed for his jacket and his barret to go and greet her.

"Seems like she's got company though," Kinch commented.

"Yeah. Some general. And..." Hogan blinked. Twice. This couldn't be true, could it...? _"Please!"_ he thought with an edge of despair. _"Don't scare me more than is absolutely necessary...!"_

But there was Klink, all overflowing with jittery hospitality. "Herr General, what an honour to welcome you to our little camp! Would you care for some refreshments? And the lady..." Klink hesitated, and Marya fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"You do remember me, don't you, darling?"

"Um... yes. Of course I do. Fräulein Marya, isn't it?"

"Just Marya will do. And look, we brought you a present!"

"A present? For me?"

"But of course!" She leaned back to the car and took Crittendon by the sleeve. "Come now. Out you get."

Crittendon did as he was told. Almost as if he was on a leash. He still had that far-off heavenly look in his eyes.

Klink stared. And Marya announced genially, "See? We brought you a new prisoner!"

Klink's head bobbed up and down. And then, carefully, he started to smile. "Excellent. Excellent! Thank you, Fräulein! And Herr General of course. Thank you!" He rubbed his hands together. "Well, Colonel Crittendon. It seems it's time to take down your American counterpart a few pegs again, isn't it?"

There was no reply.

"Um... Colonel Crittendon?"

Marya waved her hand in a dismissive way. "He is still in shock from his capture."

"I see." Klink studied the man covertly. He did seem to be in shock.

"But allow me to present my companion to you, Klink darling. This here, is Professor General Albert Schweinsteiger, a real big shot from Berlin. With a special mission. You will allow us to use your quarters for the night, won't you?"

"Um... Yes, of course, Fräulein. But... him, too?" He gestured towards the still dazed Crittendon.

"No... Let him bunk in with the other prisoners. You said he is a friend of that charming Colonel Hogan?"

Klink twittered happily. "Oh yes. A very, very, good friend indeed... So, Colonel Crittendon, you'll be housed in Barracks 2. Your usual barracks. Dismissed!"

However, Crittendon made no move to actually go in that direction, until Marya took him by the sleeve again and began to lead him in the right direction. "This way, Rodney darling. I will come and check on you later, yes? Perhaps we can continue our... fireworks... together."

A heavenly sigh escaped from Crittendon's chest, but like the almost robotic being he'd become after Marya's overwhelming kiss, he kept on walking without further prompting until he reached the open door of Barracks 2. Where he was pulled inside none too gently, and the door was slammed shut behind him.

"Alright, what are you doing here," Hogan demanded. "And with _her_ , no less!"

"Fireworks," Crittendon mumbled. "Fireworks, everywhere!"

This reply raised more than a few eyebrows.

"Is she planning to blow something up?" came Carter's hopeful voice from the back of the throng.

"No... I just saw... fireworks..."

Newkirk gave him a critical once-over. "He's gone barmy, he is."

That seemed to jolt the British officer out of his spell. "Not barmy, you twit - I'm... in love...!"

"With her?!"

"Impossible!" LeBeau protested. "She's in love with _me_!"

"And with every male within a thousand mile radius. Get off it, LeBeau," Newkirk scoffed.

"Obviously, she is using Crittendon for some tricky reason of her own," Hogan concluded. "And I guess it's up to us to figure out what she wants this time. Crittendon, did she tell you anything about why she's here?"

"Well... not really. She just... kissed me..."

"Open your mouth."

"What?"

"Open your mouth. Maybe she hid something in there."

Crittendon opened his mouth, but Hogan, promoting himself on the spot to the rank of dentist, didn't find anything suspicious, except... "You need a new filling."

"I know." Crittendon closed his mouth. "I will be going to a real dentist as soon as I am on English soil again. Can't trust the Jerries to treat a good solid English toothache, can you?"

"Exactly. Now what did she want?"

At that moment the door crashed open. "What I always want, Hogan darling: your help!"

LeBeau's eyes lit up; Hogan rolled his instead. "What have you cooked up this time?"

Marya had a languid shrug. "Nothing elaborate, really. Just a guy carrying a new secret weapon, who's about to defect."

"Secret weapon? What kind of secret weapon?"

Marya puckered her lips at Crittendon, and then at LeBeau. "A powerful new laundry detergent that..."

" _Laundry_ detergent...?"

"Yes, a laundry detergent. But a lethal one. It's meant to be distributed in Britain, killing every housewife in the country, and with that, break all morale as well as the backbone of the British army: their food supply."

Newkirk charged forward. "Those bloody blighters! They can't do that!"

She eyed him critically. "Of course they can. That's why we have to stop them. And since my dear Bumsti is the only one who knows the formula, he will be defecting tonight. Not that he's aware of his upcoming defection of course."

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You mean you want us to get him out of Germany. With his formula."

"Yes. And the sample of his laundry detergent."

"He actually carries a sample of it?!"

"Oh yes. But not to worry. As long as he gets to England tonight, it should be alright."

"Why is that? Is it set to explode in twenty-four hours?"

"Boy! Exploding laundry detergent! That's a new one!" Carter interjected. "I wonder what the formula is?"

"Now don't you go experimenting with lethal laundry detergent!" Hogan chided him, before turning back to their female visitor. "So what's going to happen after tonight?"

"He's going to go to the bathroom," she deadpanned.

Hogan's eyes went wide. "You mean he swallowed it?! A spoonful of lethal laundry detergent?"

"Yes, he did. Well, actually, it's an unbreakable capsule filled with it. And he's expecting it to come out by tomorrow morning. That's why he has to be in England before sunrise - to avoid the stuff being used by the Germans."

Hogan raked his fingers through his jetblack hair. "Right. And we're just supposed to spirit a plane over here to come and pick him up?"

Marya purred, and began to drape herself all over him. "Oh, Hogan darling, you never let me down, do you..."

But he pushed her back. "Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything. To begin with, how do we get a plane over here? I can't just..."

"You call London of course. Or you steal a plane." She put a hand on his chest. "Surely you can see how desperate the situation is? Or would you like to go rooting in the General's poo tomorrow morning?"

Hogan closed his eyes in horror. That was not the kind of activity he had signed up for when he joined the army, was it.

"You see?" Marya snuggled up to him. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Hogan darling. You always do."

"Um..." It was Crittendon who tapped Hogan's shoulder.

"What is it now?" Hogan growled.

"No offence, Hogan, but I should take the lead in this operation," Crittendon announced. "After all, I've been working with the lady already, and as you know all too well, I do outrank you."

"And me!" LeBeau cried. "I was in love with her first!"

"Excellent!" Crittendon said. "I can use a good cook. For what we need to do first is buy some time. You, my French friend, will whip up a meal that will leave our General with a bad case of constipation. That should buy us enough time to get a plane over here."

LeBeau looked shocked. "I can't do that! I'm French!"

"Exactly! Vive la France, down with the Bosche!"

"No." LeBeau took off his jacket and threw it down on the floor. "I will not cook a meal that deliberately causes constipation. It goes against everything I believe in!"

"LeBeau, we all have to make sacrifices," Hogan said. "And I hate to admit it, but Crittendon's plan actually makes sense. So get going. Prepare a meal for the General that will give him a bad case of constipation. And that's an order."

LeBeau huffed, and it looked like he would refuse. But Marya's puckered lips whispered softly, "I will make it up to you - later." That was all it took to have him change his mind, and off he went to his locker to check on his food stashes.

"Now about this plane," Hogan unconsciously took the lead again. "Where are we going to get a plane this fast?"

"Last time I was here, you stole one," Crittendon reminded him.

"Yeah, well, it has been rather slow with intact planes dropping out of the sky lately," Hogan scoffed.

"And there is an airfield nearby," Marya remembered. "We will just have to convince Bumtsi that his constipation is fatal. And..."

Hogan clicked his fingers. "That's it. LeBeau, start cooking. Posthaste! Newkirk, Carter, get into uniforms. Luftwaffe guards. Kinch, call the local airport and inquire if there's any planes available for immediate take-off. Tell them it's an emergency. And you..." He turned to Crittendon, but the British officer forestalled him.

"I will go to England with him of course. As his guard. And once I've delivered him to a nice British prison camp with a big enough latrine, I will apply for an audience with Mr. Churchill to present the Crittendon Plan version 2.0. That's what I escaped for in the first place."

Hogan groaned. "Don't tell me - you want to plant daisies along the runways now?"

"Oh no. That is so outdated. No, I've got a much better plan! With Christmas coming up, I'm petitioning for the British bombers to drop crates with Christmas ornaments on every POW camp in Germany. There are so many trees around; I'm sure decorating Christmas trees will make the men long for home even more, and thus increase the number of escapes!"

.

To Hogan's surprise, the plan actually went off without a hitch. The General got very sick from LeBeau's inedible meal.

"Oh, my dear, dear Bumtsi! You don't think that capsule you swallowed actually burst, did it?" Marya wailed.

The guy's eyes absolutely bulged.

"Don't worry, we'll get you to the best hospital in all of Germany!" she announced. And looked back towards the hovering Kommandant. "Klink! Quick! Send for a car! And call the airfield! We'll need a plane to fly the General to Berchtesgaden as quickly as possible!"

Within minutes, a staff car arrived. Helpful hands supported the poor General, and ten minutes later he was lifted on board of an innocuous German plane, ready for take-off. In the pilot's seat was none other than Group Captain Rodney Crittendon himself, and as soon as the hatch was shut, the plane took off over the runway, off into the dark night sky.

"There, Hogan darling. That was a jolly good show, wasn't it?" Marya asked as she draped herself around him once more.

Hogan sighed. "I do hope for one thing though."

"What's that?" She snuggled up to him. "A good long kiss perhaps?"

Hogan shook his head. "No. That Crittendon is capable of navigating to England, or he'll end up in Berchtesgaden after all."

.

 _Note: okay, time running out. I confess it didn't quite turn out as I imagined. The idea was to make Hogan squirm, being caught between Marya's schemes and Crittendon's stupidities. But clearly, especially Marya's plans need more time than a few hours to be elaborated properly._ _ _In my own humble opinion, I dare say I've written better stuff, b_ ut for the challenge's sake, it'll have to do for now...  
_

 _Clarification of the above following the first reviews: yes, it is indeed pretty funny, but I did not achieve what I set out to achieve in this story. Writing Marya and Crittendon into one story is quite a challenge in itself, but I've written both of them before, and I simply didn't reach my own standards. Marya's plan/plot is way too straightforward; very much unlike her. And Hogan hardly got to deal with Crittendon at all. For me, this story reads as a first draft of a promising plot that still needs a lot of work. I guess both a speedwriting contest, writing and mostly concocting the story in all of about four hours, and a maximum word limit were not the best parameters to try my hand at this plot. So who knows - maybe there'll be a version 2.0 of this one day, too ;-)_


End file.
